


Like a Walk in the Park

by imperiality (orphan_account)



Series: Just a Small Town Girl [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Shiro has a maltese, how much better can it get
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2019-03-25 23:04:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13844907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/imperiality
Summary: Mister Man, Handsome Stranger and Beautiful Bara Boy are all colorful monickers to the man he keeps seeing walk his dog. Now, one of these days, Lance is going to talk to this man.He does. With a little assistance.It goes better than he plans. (Better than he coulddream.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [strawberrylovely](https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberrylovely/gifts).



> hc that this au happens in the same one as the artist!Kallura one. on the same streets. literally.

“My usual, please.”

“Lance,” Pidge sighs. “You don’t have one.”

“Well. You got me there.”

She sighs. Again. Punches something on the register screen. “Sit down. I’ll bring it out when it’s ready.”

“How much?” He inhales. “Actually. No.” Pulling his credit card from his wallet gracelessly, he shoves it in Pidge’s face. “Just take my money and let me live.”

She does so gladly.

After whipping up a tongue-shriveling, eye-watering, tart hibiscus London fog monstrosity for him, Pidge slams down Lance’s cup with a vicious smile. “Enjoy.”

He will. Just because she asked so nicely.

Lance has been coming to this coffeeshop for… jeez. How long, now?  Too long. So long that he knows that Pidge will never take a morning shift if her life depended on it. Long enough to know that if Hunk is in a good mood and if Lance bats his pretty lashes the right way, he’ll let him “sample” some fresh, straight-from-the-oven goodies. When Coran’s in a bad mood, Lance makes sure to say in the corner or _outside._

He’s been coming long enough to know he hates these new muffins. He hates Thursday mornings. He’ll never come on another Sunday afternoon. He knows to tip Pidge and Hunk more cause they have garbage hours and he knows Keith will never make him a caramel macchiato correctly. 

Lance knows all the inner workings of this cafe. If it weren’t for the fact that he doesn’t clock in himself, he’d done _been_ part of the staff, already. He recognizes the coming and going of other usuals, too. 

Too long is long enough to know there’s nothing much to excite in this small town. Keith got a crush recently so that’s kinda exciting but like… where’s Lance’s excitement? When’s Lance’s dumb crush time? When is something going to _change_ in this stupid town?

Ooh.

Oh he’ll take that fine piece of man-candy any time.

Man-candy is always an acceptable form of change. 

Lance nearly spits out his tea latte when this _fine specimen_ starts walking towards his table. It was a beautiful day so Lance thought, hey you know, why not sit outside? There’s always ups and downs. Beautiful Bara Boy at 12 o’clock? Well. Something is definitely coming up, alright.

Homeboy and his perfect chiseled face. Homeboy with the muscles that would rip seams if he flexed too much. If he _breathed_ too much. Walking towards Lance with his tall, not-actually-dark, but yes actually handsomeness and he can’t do anything but look. 

He sweeps his eyes over those high, razor-sharp cheekbones. Can you blame a brother for checking out those obviously rock hard… _everythings_ under his clothes? Rock Hard.

_Low-hanging fruit, Lance._

Right.

He descends his eyes to his veined arms. His tasteful, leather shoes. His happy, cheerful, fluffball with the wagging tail and the wagging tongue-

Wait.

Fluffball. 

Mr. Man and his fluffball are just walking along, moseying, minding their own business but they’re doing it right next to Lance’s table and honestly he should have seen this heart attack coming. 

_Isn’t heart attack a little dramatic, dude?_

Close enough.

Fluffmeister and Beauty Thy Name is Hot Stranger pass by Lance without a care in the world. The world’s cutest dog and the world’s hottest man just… stroll right by. And Lance is just supposed to pretend it didn’t happen. He’s just expected to go on with his life. 

How dare the universe. 

 

—

 

Actually, how dare the universe times 2. 

Times 5?

Times 10 now, at least.

It’s been almost 2 weeks and every day, after Lance’s afternoon coffee, right at 2:15, Handsome stranger and sweet doggo round the corner and pass their way next to Lance’s table. 

Not that Lance has… you know. Sat at the same table for almost 2 weeks at the same time hoping to see the nameless man and the nameless dog. Or anything. 

 _The dog is_ really _cute, though. So adorable._

Every time it’s tiny body and sweet smile pass by, it takes everything the poor boy has not to lean down and baby-talk it to kingdom come. Little dogs have always had a special place in his heart. Well, that’s a lie. Any dog in general, really. But a maltese to have a coat _that_ shiny? He should commend the owner.

_Why don’t you?_

You know! Funny story about that! If Lance got over his heart palpitations enough, he’d totally go for it. If he trusted his hands not to get so sweaty, he’d totally reach his hand out, paint on his smile and whip out his foolproof finger guns but as it is… 

He’ll remain seated. 

He’ll keep taking his seat outside, sipping whatever new drink someone else has chosen for him, working and typing away at his laptop, and only letting a quick side glance catch a glimpse of the strolling strangers. 

Lance won’t say a word. 

He doesn’t say a word, think anything more until one day-

“Lance. Just say something to him, already. It’s hurting me watching you. And I’m inside the shop.”

He’s coming up on 3 weeks since the first Mystery Man spotting, but all he’s been doing up to this point is _spotting._

_And! And sitting! I sit so good in this chair, it’s a bit of a crime._

He makes sure to tell Pidge as much.

“Please, Lance.” She’s not having it. “I can see you thirsting after Shiro from all the way behind the counter. The first day he came around, you couldn’t stop staring at the spot you first saw him until like, 15 minutes had passed. It was kind of pitiful.”

Kind of? So he knows it was really pitiful, but-

“You could see me _thirsting_? I am not that obvious. I’m way more smooth than that.”

“Please, give me a break.” She pauses to take another order, whip it up and hand it out. As she wipes the barista station, she turns back to Lance with a tricky brow. “What’s your deal, anyway?  Why haven’t you said anything to him yet? Isn’t his… what do you like to call it- his ‘aesthetic’ or whatever- right up your ally? What’s the hold up.”

Shoulder-shrugging has never been a violent sport until Lance.

“Shoulder shrugs?” She mocks him. Pidge is so small, it jostles her whole frame. “Shoulder shrugs, seriously? That’s all you got?” She stops herself short.

_Stops short. Good one, Lance._

“That’s all I got Pidge, what more do you want from me?”

“That’s all you got? I don’t think so. Why haven’t you ‘worked your McLain charm’ or whatever, this is… this is slow for most people. _Ancient_ for you. Shiro must be someone that actually means something to you.”

_That’s the second time._

“His name’s Shiro?” A name. He can work with a name.

“Oh no.”

“I like ‘Shiro.’”

“Now that’s fast, even for you.”

“Not!” When he shrugs this time, his shoulders stay by his ears. “Not like that!”

_Not yet, anyway._

“Not like that.” She peers out onto the restaurant floor. A mercifully dead day. The enveloping silence allows her to say, “So you just like looking at the assets, then?”

Lance sputters.

He does not deny.

“I like his dog!”

She claps her hands. “Hunk!” 

Hunk, sweet, genius, cavity-inducing sweet baker Hunk pops his head out of the kitchen. “Yeah, Pidge?”

“He likes Shiro’s dog!”

Hunk barely even notices Lance before agreeing, “Everyone likes Shiro’s dog. She’s so sweet.”

She claps again. “So it’s settled!”

“What’s settled.”

“What are we settling.”

“Just say that!” she points. “Literally one of the easiest tricks in the book. Compliment his dog. Ask his name so he knows you’re not a total creeper.”

“Oh now we’re talking about Shiro,” Hunk murmurs. 

Pidge swivels her owl neck with her ridiculous owl hearing towards him. “We’re talking about Lance’s crush on Shiro.”

The boy’s paused shrug does nothing to hide his flushing ears. Nothing. 

“It’s not a crush.”

An attempt was made.

“How long has it been?”

“Almost 3 weeks, Hunk.”

The attempt sucked ass.

“It’s not a crush!”

Lance is Caesar. Hunk is Brutus. Dirty, dirty Brutus. “It’s kind of a crush by now, dude.”

“Okay, so what if I like his dog?” That’s the only allowance Lance will give. “And maybe his face?” For real. His face is the last one. “And his hair…” Really really. Last one. For sure.

“Lance.” Pidge, for really real this time, is having none of this. “Just talk to the guy. Talk to his dog first if it soothes your nerves.” She reaches beneath her counter to get her cup of water. As she chews on the straw, she says “I’ve literally never seen you this way.”

Lance is scared to ask. He does it anyway.

“What way?”

“Not…” she chews a moment. “You haven’t taken the initiative. You’ve spared him your awful pick-up lines. I haven’t seen you do any finger guns. Hell, I haven’t seen you do _anything_ other than thirst your life away sitting at that table.”

“Pidge is right,” Hunk. Ever digging that knife farther in. “If you want to make any progress, you can’t keep expecting the other person to pull your weight. I know you don’t do it all the time but,” he wrings his hands. “It is a habit of yours.”

“Habits can break,” Pidge quips. “Break this one first. Spare us faster.”

A shrill beeping harkens from deeper in the kitchen. “Gotta turn the croissants-“ Ah. Hunk takes his leave.

Lance takes his cue as well. “Since you want me to so bad Pigeon,” she ruffles his unfortunate barista’s hair, “I’ll flirt with the boy.”

“I had no part in this. You will say no such thing.”

He laughs as he waves her goodbye, leaving the door chimes twinkling in his leave.

 

—

 

The next day, Lance sits in his perch on the iron chairs outside the shop, same as always. He pretends he’s working after 2 o’clock, same as always. He wipes his sweating palms, chills his thundering heart, smooths out his breath same as always.

At the golden hour of 2:15, No Longer Nameless Model Shiro and Still Indeed Nameless Maltese round about the corner. They approach the table. Lance keeps his eyes glued to the laptop screen until the very last second. The happy maltese steps a paw next to the chair across from Lance, and he springs into action.

He makes sure to greet with his smoothest, squeakiest, slickest smile as he looks up to the man. “H-hi!” _Keep going._ “I uh, I keep noticing you pass around here. I can’t help but admire your dog. She…?” he gauges. Shiro nods, and Lance continues. “She’s beautiful. What’s her name?”

While Lance slips out of his chair to scritch her ears, Shiro says “Creampuff. She loves meeting new people, she’s really friendly.”

The boy can’t help but snort. “Creampuff.” He runs his fingers over her tiny head. “That’s adorable.” 

“Thank you, thank you.” This guy’s shy smile is pretty adorable, too. “I though it was fitting considering,” he points around her choppy, creamy fur. 

“Fitting for sure.” He stands back up, letting himself get lost in the way Shiro’s smile softens his sharp features. 

But. Lance isn’t supposed to know his name yet. Suddenly, he thrusts out a hand for Shiro to take. “Lance. I’m Lance.”

The man inclines his head as his mechanical grip-

Now hold on. Lance shudders ever so slightly, just a touch so hopefully Shiro didn’t notice it. He looks down into their grasped hands, only just noticing the chilled metal prosthetic. His hand is having conflicting thoughts about it.

So is his head.

_So is the other head._

“Shiro.” His smile evens to something more cordial. “Nice to meet you.” He unclasps their hands (much too soon) to gesture to the air between them, above them. Behind him. “You know I’ve seen you hanging around, too. You’re usually chilling out here when I’m out walking Creampuff.”

“This place is like my second home,” Lance puffs a laugh.

“I can see how,” he bends down. Tilts his head towards the cafe. Looks back to Lance with arms full of puff. “Pidge and… Hunk right?”

“Hunk, yeah.”

“They’re pretty nice. I’ve known Keith forever-“

“ _Keith!_ You already know Keith? That guy? Ugh, great.” 

_Not even 3 minutes and you’re already whining to him? Yikes._

Right. Right. No whining. Only flirting. Lance can be so smooth.

“I’m actually his guitar teacher.”

He balks. “You’re a who what now.”

"Since he was kid, too. I teach at the music shop a few blocks down, but it’s only been… gosh. Maybe a month since I moved so close to town? Something about it’s sleepiness was calling to me.”

Oh. Lance is anything but sleepy.

“That’s nice. It is a sleepy town we’ve got,” he wisely says instead.

“That’s why Creampuff and I like it so much. Isn’t that right? Isn't that right?” He kisses her snout.

What if Lance wanted his nose kissed. What if.

“Well,” Shiro gently sets the dog down. “Creampuff and I had better get going. She likes to keep her schedules.” Aww. He’s one of Those dog people. (If Lance’s heart wasn’t melting before.) “It was good to meet you, Lance. I’ll be seeing you around, yeah?”

“I’ll be here.” He nods.

“Maybe one of these days I’ll go in and have something other than a straight black. See you later,” Shiro waves.

“It’s a date!” 

Wait. 

Hmm.

Might be a little soon for that but he doesn’t hear Shiro refuting. He’ll take what he can get.

It isn’t until long after his laptop’s fallen asleep, logged out, nearly shut down until Lance gets his bearings again. When he does, he doesn't waste any time crashing back into the cafe, not spotting Pidge but running in the back and seeing Hunk scrubbing at the dishes. He whips open on the kitchen door, flashing him a thumbs up. He reciprocates. 

Life can't get any better, honestly.

 

—

 

That's a filthy lie.

Every day Lance chills at his favorite spot outside his favorite coffeeshop, Shiro and Creampuff come strolling from around the corner. Armed with a smile and another handshake- or. No. 

An arm pat this time.

“What are you working on there?” Shiro points at Lance’s laptop.

Honestly, he doesn’t even know anymore. Maybe it was an essay for school. Maybe it was a Grown Up email. Maybe he was dorking around online, it could be anyone’s guess for all he cares.

“Nothing…nothing huge.” 

“It's a beautiful day to be working outside.” The wistfulness bleeds heavy in Shiro’s voice. Curious. “Think I might let Creampuff take another walk around the block just because it’s so nice.”

Normally, Lance isn’t keen on small talk. Like. At all. With Shiro’s voice on the line? That changes everything. He could probably read every word of the essay Lance is supposed to be working on, and he’d still be completely enraptured. 

The man parts in his usual way; a promise to see him the next day with a sturdy pat on the shoulder. 

It’s nice.

Shiro’s voice is nice. His unparalleled kindness and genuineness is nice. Petting his dog, seeing his smile, having easy conversations with him is so, so terribly nice and it makes Lance want to be sick. It makes him want to cry. It makes him want to never leave his chair or for Creampuff’s walk to never be over. 

He doesn't have to tell anyone at the cafe his thoughts for his sentiment to be communicated.

Every day, Lance takes his seat if he can. Sometimes his seat is occupied, so he settles for yearning from afar. Every day, Lance smiles up to Shiro if he can. They talk about whatever, whatever. How long Shiro’s been in the area. How they both like it. They talk brunch time gossip; who to avoid, who’s cheating on who. They talk about Lance’s classes; how much he loves them and how much bullcrap he’s actually spewing. 

Naturally, they talk about Creampuff a lot.

Naturally, their conversations have to come to a close at some point. Lance milks their talks for all they’re worth, stretching them as long as he dares. 

He hopes it isn’t all in his head that Shiro’s Goodbye Arm Pats get lower and lower. He could have sworn they started at the top at his shoulder. This week, they’ve been hovering at about the top of his bicep. 

Shiro always makes sure to use his left hand.

Its warmth never fails to seep through Lance's shirt. 

He swears, the warmth gives way to heat but changes to _scalding_ as the weeks pass by. 

The weeks are passing by too quickly. Shiro is a change that makes the weeks zoom even faster in all the best ways.

Lance can't help himself but soar with his flights of fancy he takes with Shiro. In one dream, they’re both noblemen in breeches and embroidered coats, tipping their hats to each other, horse-riding or watching the opera or luxuriating in their 300 acre estates. 

Ahem.

Other flights include them just hanging at the movies. Maybe Shiro’s teaching him to play the guitar, chest pressed up tight to Lance’s back, patiently pointing and telling which strings to pluck. Maybe they’re swimming or surfing together.

Maybe they’ve got a whole bakery of dogs. You know… Creampuff. Maybe a Cupcake. Brownie? Oreo?

Maybe Lance has a dog of his own. 

That’s an idea.

Maybe he does.

Shiro is definitely a change and he’s everything Lance could want and nothing he would expect but now… now Lance wants to turn it up a bit. 

You could say he’s getting inspired. Has he just never been properly motivated, before? Something something something. 

Now is the time for change the second. 

Now is time for change to come by his own hand.

In the spirit of change and newness and “proper motivation”, Lance marches himself to the nearest adoption center he can look up online. He swaggers right through the door, locks eyes with the one his heart leeches out to most, then marches himself and his newest family member back home. 

He makes his new friend comfortable in the brand spanking new dog bed he got. That collar didn’t come cheap, either. Neither did the bowls or the kibble or the stupid doggie bags but it doesn’t matter. This happy change won’t stop wagging its tail or licking Lance’s face, so he counts it all as cost. 

This new happy change? Priceless.

Shiro’s shocked face better be, too. 

 

—

 

The next day, Lance takes his new friend out for a walk then loosely ties his leash around his chair. His knee won’t stop bouncing. His hands won’t be still. He can't stop flicking his eyes to the digital clock, wondering wondering if Shiro’s going to be late. 

_It’s only 2:11! Chill out maybe!_

Yeah. Chill out like the pupper snoring beside him, laying to his right almost-napping the day away. His friend gets his.

His friend is still not yet named. 

His friend is about to make a new friend of his own. Finally, Shiro and Creampuff walk down the street, the man’s eyes immediately looking down to Lance’s new addition. 

When he gets close enough (to look, not touch,) Shiro holds a gentle hand out for the pupper to sniff. He barely rouses by the man’s presence. Creampuff comes around to greet him, and he makes a bigger reaction in marginal levels. 

“A beautiful dog you’ve got there,” Shiro confesses.

Lance is inclined to agree. Like hell he even knows what breed he is, but he couldn’t care less. When he saw him crouched tight in his cage, silent and still with the calmest eyes Lance had ever seen, he knew he had to get him. They were going to be For Each Other. 

He runs a hand down the dog’s neck. “Why thank you. Just got him a few days ago.”

A few days ago? Can that be true? He knows he doesn’t come in on the weekends so… yeah.  

“What’s… his?”

Lance nods. 

“His name.”

Lance laughs.

“What? What’s up?” Shiro smiles, compassionate in his confusion.

“You’re gonna love this Shiro. You really are.”

“Why do I have the feeling your definition and my definition of love are different things?”

Oh God Lance really hopes that isn’t true.

He shakes his hands out in front of him. “No no. It’s good. It’s um…” He bobs his head. “I don’t actually…” _Out with it!_ “I don't actually have a name for him, yet.”

Lance might as well have kicked Creampuff in front of him, just going by his expression. “No? But it’s already been a few days! How… how!” He crouches himself down to the dog’s level, cooing, “You poor thing. You poor nameless, thing. Is Lance being a Holly Golightly? Is he? Yes he is. Who needs a name,” he strokes behind an ear, “You do. You do.”

Between the baby-talk, Lance has been schooling himself up enough to drop the real bomb down. 

Can he actually do it?

“I uh…” An attempt was made. “I was wondering if you…” The attempt is in pursuit. “Maybe you could help me…” _Almost there._ “Pick one.” 

_Everything come out okay, there?_

“Pick one.” His stare is blank. It switches from Lance. To the dog. To Creampuff. To dog. To Lance. “For-“ he tilts his head back down.

“Yeah, dude! See, here’s the thing-“ the more he talks, the more the jitters can expel through his lips. “All my names are garbage. “ _Llama de basura,_ know what I’m saying. I’m thinking if we brainstormed, it won’t be so…” he flaps his hands. He hopes Shiro gets it. “You know?”

“But hold on.” He holds up a finger. “Shouldn’t he already have one?”

“No, no no.” Lance shakes his head. “See, I’ve never had a dog before, but I’ve had my fair share of guinea pigs. Fish. Cats. The cats were all my sisters’ actually, but moving on. Every time we brought them home, we always made it a tradition to give them a new name. We’re not trying to do the whole mystical ‘let’s change their identity and sense of being’ but… making them more one of us. Giving them another piece to welcome them to the family.”

Slowly, smoothly, Shiro nods in understanding. “Okay. I think I understand.”

“So.” Lance is about to projectile out of his seat. “What do you say? Wanna help?”

“If you need me, then I’d be glad to.”

Oh Lance needs him. For sure.

He holds out a hand to gesture for Shiro to sit across from him and together, they barely note the moving sun overhead. One by one, they put names on and scratched names off the list. Confectionaries were strong contenders. Flower variations. More foods. Clothing articles. Human names. Professions.

“His name is not going to be Ninja.”

“That’s cause you’re not seeing big enough, Shiro.”

Spot’s on there. (He’s more speckled than anything, so it’s like calling a ragdoll cat Midnight.)

Fifo’s on there. It quickly becomes not on there.

Socks is on there but the more Lance thinks on it, the more he’s leaning towards Spaghetti. 

“We need to reach a compromise.” Shiro states.

Lance completely agrees. “Yes we do.”

They settle on

“ _Buttons?_ ”

Okay so, Lance settles on Buttons, but it was the only way before either of them were leaving before the sun set.

Before the _sun set?_

Lance runs his eyes to the digital clock, choking down his sputtering shock. No _wonder_ it’s gotten so cool! It’s almost 4 o’clock! 

“Hey dude, thanks so much for hanging out with me and figuring this out with me. You’re a real trooper, really appreciate it-“

“Lance, Lance Lance.”

He’d combust at hearing his name if he weren’t so frantic for Shiro to get home and keep Creampuff’s schedules. 

“What, what what.”

Shiro lays his hands over Lance’s wrist.

_Hnnn._

“What's the rush? You alright?” He looks up above them. The emptier streets around them. He holds his watch up. “ _It’s already 4 o’clock_?”

It’s like watching himself being reenacted. Or deja vu. 

“Shiro. Shiro.” Now it’s his turn to lay his hands down. “Thank you, really. I appreciate you helping me out.” He glances down to Button, none the wiser to the frivolities of time or names. “Now Button is really home.” 

Change is Shiro.

Change is Button.

Change is something Lance is all too comfortable with, and turns it up even more. 

He says, diving all in, not looking back “You should let me treat you to a coffee or something to thank you.”

“Please, I don’t deserve that much credit.” It’s still lost on Lance how a man this strong can look this soft. 

“If not for the credit, then at least for your time.”

Change is what Lance is telling himself that pushed him to think _I’m not leaving without a no._

“A coffee? Sure that’d be nice. Maybe a latte. Something not too strong. I’m still trying to broaden my horizons.” 

Oh. That was almost too easy.

“Actually,” Shiro stands to leave. He jostle’s Creampuff’s leash a bit, and she springs to attention. “I know how you can pay me back."

Out of _nowhere,_ echos of Shiro’s voice saying - _by never talking to me again_ and - _I never want to see you around again_ and - _I don’t want anything to do with you_ , flood his head.

Ouch.

From the thicket of Lance’s mind plummet, Shiro combats it all. “You could let Creampuff and Button spend some time together.”

Say.

“Huh.”

What now.

_Did I hear right._

“Creampuff and I are in the same boat. We’re still looking for friends. I don’t know if that playground down that street,” he points to a nebulous road behind him, “doubles as a dog park, but I’d like to find one before Creampuff gets too stir crazy in the house.”

Lance is hearing that right.

It is _way_ too easy but he’d be damned if he doesn't eat up the chance. In his excitement, he nearly steps over Button and knocks over his chair. He beams at Shiro, “There’s this baseball field not even like... a couple miles away! If you wanted to go somewhere quiet, that is. If you wanted to go to an actual Dog-Dog park, then-“ he racks his brain.

“No need,” Shiro, as always. With his arm touch. “The field sounds perfect. I’ll meet you here same time tomorrow?”

All Lance can do is nod.

“And you can show me the way.”

Nod nod.

“Sounds perfect, then.” 

Lance is oozing, oozing. Goo. Melting. Thinning. Descending. 

This arm touch nearly has Shiro holding his elbow, smiling too warmly, hotly, electric for Lance to stay still to. 

“See you later,” he parts with a tender voice.

No. Not yet.

Lance snatches his touch to just above the knobs of Shiro’s wrist, anchoring him in place. 

His voice is not tender. It’s not gentle. It’s not soft.

With all the strength and the confidence and the nerve he can muster, Lance looks Shiro in the eye. His voice is a sharp foil. 

“I look forward to seeing you.”

But all Shiro does is smile. Smile smile, back. He nods his head once, chuckling as he parts under his breath one last time, a silent  _“later”_ and takes his leave. Chuckling under his breath, Lance could _swear_ he heard something like “it’s a date."

And yeah. Yeah it will be.

For once, he’s going to let this change be easy. 

For once, he’s going to let change change him, too.

He’s going to let this change take his flights and his dreams and his heart where they’ve never gone before.


	2. Like a Walk in the Garden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro sees this kid every time he takes Creampuff for her afternoon walk. 
> 
> Not kid... handsome stranger.
> 
> Maybe one of these days he'll muster up the courage to do more than walk by.
> 
> (Lance finds it for him, and it's better than he could ever hope. Better than he could even dream.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basically the Lance fic, but Shiro's POV. And some more juicy happenings ';)

Shiro doesn’t know how he didn’t see this boy before. With the way Pidge and Hunk describe him, he’s been living in this town since… forever. One of their most faithful usuals. One of their biggest tippers. One of the only people that comes everyday.

Everyday.

Today is the day the first that Shiro has even set foot in this shop. His Keurig at home was enough for him, but once Keith landed the barista job to help pay for his craft, he pushed Shiro to come for at least a week. He conceded. 

A new house closer to town? A new job for Shiro to tease Keith at? A new walk to take Creampuff on? All the stars are aligning.

They aligned a little too well.

When Shiro and Creampuff turned the corner to get back on Main Street,  he nearly stopped them in their tracks. 

Sitting like the dried strokes of a painting, renaissance with his saturated eyes and impressionist with his _softness_ , Shiro wanted to hang the boy up on his wall.

_Down, boy._

He resumes his walk.

Creampuff is too excitable and the boy at the table looked too engrossed in his work; Shiro would be loathe to interrupt. Creampuff keeps her focus astride and Shiro kept his eyes upward.

He kept a certain downcast gaze in his mind all the way back hom.

If it isn’t until he unclasped the lease that he remembers.

“I didn't even stop in the shop!”

He decided to try again the next morning. When he was less distracted. It was a solid plan.

In the morning, his distractions don’t even seem to be present, now. 

_Distraction. In the singular._

He doesn’t know if fortuition is on his side or not. 

Shay is an  unwittingly gracious barista for working morning shifts most days out of the week. She knows to pour Shiro’s coffee with the darkest brew. Leaves extra room for his sugar. She and Creampuff forgive him if he still has sleep in his eyes. 

Shiro pops in. He runs right back out. His morning coffee is a pivotal, necessary, life-saving ritual that demands not to be ignored. 

The second walk that afternoon is not. 

But what about the afternoon walk the day after that? What about the fifth walk? What about the tenth walk; were they pivotal and necessary and life-changing, too?

Pivotal? Perhaps.

Necessary? Not for only one reason and one reason alone.

Life-changing? Completely.

Shiro could walk in for his morning coffees, forsaking his Keurig and giving Creampuff a little fresh air. He _could_ do that. He could have his morning coffee and let that be the end of it. 

Or he could come again. He swing around later that very same day when the sun has risen more, when neither he or Creampuff have sleep in their eyes. He could round the same corner, walk the same path, greet a different barista and see an added face everyday. Creampuff hasn’t complained so far.

Neither will Shiro.

In the mornings, his distractions are few. (Nonexistent.) He walks in the shop, gets his pour and resumes his merry way. Not as merry as his afternoon walk, but it’s not the morning’s fault.

Is it his distraction, then? But how. How could he blame a face so pensive? How could he fault focused eyes so clear, or a face so open? One day, Shiro is determined to turn that boy’s focus from the screen to his face. He’s going to make himself the only thing that boy sees.

_Bit early for that, isn’t it?_

Hardly. It’s been at least 2 weeks.

2 weeks for Shiro to dwell in his monochrome mornings, but lavish in his saturated afternoons. 2 weeks have passed for Shiro to psyche himself up, only to talk himself out. It’s been 2 entire weeks! Passing by the boy with the smoothest looking skin, sharpest gleaming eyes, most slender looking hands. He keeps passing by the boy with starlight, water waves, electricity in his eyes and Shiro’s attention and near desperation is only a conductor for it. 

It’s been 2 weeks, and Shiro’s just as loathe to break the boy's attention as he ever was.

 

—

 

“You come in after my shift, don’t you?”

Shiro does, but he needs to know just how much Shay knows before he can proceed. “I need my mid-day boost, you know?”

Her smile is too kind to be smug; too knowing to be innocent. “‘Mid-day boost.’ That’s something to call him.”

Busted.

“Keith told you, didn’t he."

“Actually it was-“ Shay pauses her outstretching hand. She denies Shiro his pre-sunrise boost. “No. I won't say.”

Quickly, quietly, discreetly he makes grabby hands for his coffee before his string of life fully frays.  “But you will say…”

Shay resumes the reach. His string is restitched. “I’ll say that his name is Lance.”

_Lance._

The knowledge doesn’t feel as revolutionizing as he thought it would be. Maybe the shock just needs to settle.

Before he can even turn around to leave, Shay’s smile doesn’t relent a bit as she continues “I’ll say that  your midday boost isn’t coffee. You don’t even come into the shop.”

To that, he can't even deny.

“To be honest, I don’t know if I’m expected to feel guilty or embarrassed.”

“I’m feeling impatient!” Shay hastily runs his card on the register.

“Impatient?”

“For your own sake.” She sighs she sighs, but she means well. "Time is of the essence, Shiro.” Her gaze is pointed to certain places on his face. On his person. “You of all people should know this.”

Of many people, he knows this all too well.

“Time is of the essence.”

The barista nods. “I think you’ll be presently surprised by the outcome of your…” her mind jumps from lily pad to lily pad of _which word to use._ “Your bravery."

“ _Bravery?_ ”

“Indeed.” This smile Shay affixes is more trustworthy. He relaxes his muscles. His fingers stop _tink tink_ _tinking_. “Bravery, and generosity. Surly those you can spare?”

Surly those are things he _wants_ to spare.

“I can try,” he grins. 

He kisses down to Creampuff, waves goodbye to Shay and takes his leave. 

He takes his pupper out again for his midday boost.

He tries on that walk. 

And on the next.

Every walk after he tries for brave, he tries for generous. He tries for surprise and he tries for pleasant but somehow it just cannot, will not be breached.

Shiro tries, but surprises it seems are no longer in his palate. Shiro tries but brave and pleasant and greetings won't come his way. He can’t bare to cut the silence. He can’t make himself turn the boy’s gaze. He can’t let him break his concentration.

How generous and kind would that be?

Shiro knows that time is of the essence. He also knows that the best things in life are worth waiting for. 

Yet in the evening, when he and Creampuff are curled up on the couch watching her favorite TV show, he can't shake the feeling she's silently condemning him. 

 _There's patience, and then there’s obstinance,_ his mind says for her.

True. But there’s initiative, and then there’s ignorance.

_There’s silence, and then there’s quiet._

There’s bravery, and then there’s belligerence.

 _There’s static._ Check.

 _Then there’s_ electricity.

Checkmate.

 

—

 

Shiro keeps letting the static fizzle for yet another week. These live wires are bound to combust one of these days, but he can’t bring himself to complete the circuit. 

_What is wrong with you?_

What’s wrong with him? Frankly, a lot of things.

The week passes in its usual fashion: wake up for coffee, do some work, walk for his _ahem_ midday coffee and then go to the music shop to set up for lessons. Yet as the week continues, he feels the static creeping and crackling over his arms. It’s shivering up and down his neck. It’s so thick and bright and strong, he’s positive Creampuff feels it through her paws, too.

The next day, Shiro takes Creampuff for her walk. 

The air feels disconcertingly brittle. Irrefutably charged. 

To his right, he hears a wispy intake of air.

By his feet, he feels Creampuff slow. 

There’s a shifting of hands. A flicker of gaze. A curving of a smile.

Graciously, beautifully, _finally,_ the boy with the face of paintings influenced by movements and masters clamps the wires down. 

Shiro is restarted. 

With only a look and a smile and a wave, he feels the coursing of a monsoon thunderstorm rock over him. Then… then the muse speaks. 

“Hi!”

His voice is a lullaby and a ballad all at once.

He keeps talking and Shiro keeps getting pulled farther in the coaxing tides of his voice.

_Waxing poetic, already? I feel bad for the poor kid; if only he could hear the garbage going through your head._

He doesn’t give that thought any dignity, looking instead at the boy’s outstretched hand. He fears that when his makes contact, he’ll be whisked away to another world. Another plane of reality. 

“Lance. I’m Lance.”

Shiro grasps his hand, and remains on Creampuff’s side. They keep talking, and a new fear lowly haunts him. _What if the more he looks in his eyes, the farther he’ll be pulled in his waves._

The thought doesn’t off-put him as much as he thinks a fear should.

The fear ( _sure, okay man, call it whatever you want_ ) is so not off-putting, he ends up chatting with Lance for longer than he expected. (Less than he’d ever want.) Creampuff is content and patient, in no hurry to go anywhere but Shiro knows the longer he talks, the less he’ll want to leave. For his own sake, he makes Creampuff the spoiled, persnickety dog of his nightmares so he may have a graceful reason to leave. Creampuff could care less about when or what she’s fed, as long as its _sometime_ and _something,_ but Lance doesn’t need to know that.

He also doesn’t need to know about Shiro’s fortifying and withering resolve. All he needs to know is that Shiro’s got to get going and that he’ll see him later. 

Shiro is counting on Lance to know that he means to make good on his words. He _will_ see him later. He’ll see him many, many times later for sure.

He does.

He makes sure to take Creampuff out for her walk as long as they are both able and willing. Sometimes Shiro is not able, which makes Creampuff petulant. Sometimes she’s not willing, which makes Shiro restless. Sometimes he doesn’t see Lance sitting outside, so he smothers his whispering disappointment and walks on by. 

When they talk, sometimes Lance sits in front of his laptop and those conversations average quicker than when he stands. When Lance is standing in front of Shiro, he can’t stop his wandering hands.

_Wandering, huh?_

-Can’t stop his respectable, mostly-kind of platonic physical contact. That happen to include his hands. He promises, there’s no untoward intention his hands are expressing. There’s nothing untoward or repulsive about a hand on the shoulder, is there? There’s nothing overwhelmingly romantic about a clap to the arm, last he checked.

If Lance can tell Shiro’s descending hand though, he hasn’t spoken up. Through their conversations, he can tell Lance is a clever person. He _must_ be catching on to Shiro’s lowering palm. He must have taken note that their conversations started with Shiro’s hand on the curve of his shoulder- high enough to reach the bottom tendons of his neck. He’s surely noticed that Shiro’s hand has slipped (gravitated) to the top of Lance’s bicep. He hasn’t flicked his eyes lower more made any call of attention to it, but Shiro knows he’s aware. 

The weeks still pass but daylight only races by faster and faster. The afternoons aren’t long enough for Shiro to fully dwell in them. Aren’t long enough for Shiro to share with Lance. The weeks still flash by, and Shiro’s hand reaches lower down. 

 _Does it, now_?

Vulgar thoughts have no place where Lance is concerned, so he keeps his eyes up and his hand controlled and his mind _silenced._ He keeps conversations light and easy, digging only where the give is easy and the questions are kind. He keeps his touch soft and deft, pressing only when the goodbye is long and the day is short. 

He only engages when Lance initiates.

Lance initiates every walk he takes.

Shiro’s walls to keep distance, keep formality and keep professionalism are being torn brick by brick, week by week. Each week brings him closer, more familiar, more friendly with Lance and he likes the change.

Lance is a change radiant, rambunctious and welcome. He hopes he inspires just a spark of the same.

 

—

 

Lance is a change. So his new friend snoozing by his feet.

He approaches the dog, let him sniff his hands and make quick friends with Creampuff. Lance confesses he doesn’t have a name, and Shiro can feel the veins and fibers of his heart splitting. Breaking.

Amidst his breaking heart and shattering soul, Lance grows uncharacteristically meek. Strangely stuttery. He flicks his eyes between his dog, to Creampuff, up to Shiro. Back down again. In the softest voice he’s ever heard Lance use, he asks

“I was wondering if you…” If he? “Maybe you could help me…” Oh boy. Shiro knows what’s coming. “Pick one.”

But just because he knew what to expect, doesn’t make him any more prepared. 

“Pick one.” Shiro confirms in the same soft voice. _Where had that come from?_ “For-“

“Yeah!”

It’s a process. Lance sits him down in the chair across, and one by one they cross off names on a list. 

It’s a process. He lets them go through every name under the quickly setting sun, satisfied to simply hear Lance’s enthused voice. He lets them debate and compromise and _talk_ longer than they ever have before. He lets them talk until he can see sun already losing the harshness of its high noon heat. 

How late could it be, already?

Lance’s eyes catch the corner of his laptop again, and he starts freaking out. He starts pushing Shiro away, thanking him for his time and hanging out with him and helping to figure “this whole thing out.”

He calms Lance down. Then peers to his own watch.

_Ah, yes. It is rather late, indeed._

It’s his turn to freak out.

Surprisingly, _delightfully,_ Lance offers to treat him to coffee. To thank Shiro for his time.

_Likely story._

Being treated to coffee, nice as it sounds, isn’t the time Shiro wants returned. He wants to push their meetings for all they’re worth. He wants to speak with Lance as freely as he can.

He’s done being patient, he wants to be obstinate. He doesn’t want more ignorance, he’s taking the initiative. He’s done with the quiet and the silence alike. Shiro’s going to be brave and belligerent if he must.

He’s going to ask, “You could let Button and Creampuff spend some time together.”

Lance’s mutt seems to perk up. Creampuff couldn’t still her wagging tail if she tried. Lance’ couldn’t dim the twinkling in his eyes if he tried. 

He readily agrees.

They agree to meet at the baseball field tomorrow afternoon.

They are not so ready to part. 

Shiro especially not. Not when the palm clasped over Lance’s arm only wants to draw back up. _To stroke back down_? To hold something that an hold his hand in turn. Not when the smooth skin bleeding warmth and sunshine to his palm is shocking up and down his frame.

As always, Lance doesn’t look down to his lowered grasp. He doesn’t keep his eyes anywhere else than Shiro’s. His voice doesn’t waver as he says “I look forward to seeing you.” His gaze is a tether that will only be torn in his own good time. Shiro can think of no kinder anchor. 

All Shiro can say in return is… nothing. He says not, he thinks not. He tugs on Creampuff’s leash a final time, chuckling out a breathy “later.” He doesn’t dare look back to Lance’s gaze; he knows if he does, he’ll never be able to walk away. 

With the ringing promise of _later, later, later,_ Shiro walks towards the light of the setting sun. His stupid, smudging  smile won’t wipe from his face. Every step away feels so wrong, so wrong. His views his bones his sinew his heart keeps telling him to turn around. 

_Does it, now?_

It _does_ and he doesn’t know _why._ He doesn’t know why Lance holds such a fetter over him. He doesn’t know how it happened so fast. Why is Shiro so ready to give in to it? 

Maybe he’ll have all his questions answered tomorrow afternoon. He sincerely doubts it. 

_Sincerely?_

Not that it’s going to stop him from going. Not in the slightest. Maybe he’ll finally confront all the questions he’s needed asked for a long time coming. 

Maybe the change Lance brings is what he’s needed for even longer. 

 

—

 

The afternoon is almost too good to be true. The sky is starched, cloudless blue. The air is swift but gentle. The breeze is isn’t cool but bracing; not warm but comfortable. The sun is bring and so clear and too perfect and few should blame Shiro for his suspicions. 

Everyone is amicable and almost as sunny as the high noon outside the coffeeshop. Shiro makes sure to bring Creampuff early to the shop. Shay coos at her “fine, lustrous coat” for a few minutes before the end of her shift. As he sits at the table closest to the register, he tries to let all his nerves- _thought you said it was “energy”, pal_ \- through Creampuff. He’s thinking she has enough energy to bound through her body herself. 

He waits at the shop 5 minutes.

_You’re early. Give it some time._

He talks with Shay a bit more before she officially clocks out.

He waits 10 minutes. 

 _Now is when he’s supposed to arrive, but things happen._ Not everyone is as punctual as Shiro. _No one is as punctual as Shiro._

He waits upwards of 15 minutes. Shay has taken her leave. Her cover has clocked in. His energy, _nerves, anxiety,_ are only building. Creampuff has finally stilled. The moment she lays on the floor is the moment his ticks hit him all at once; the leg bounce. The finger tapping. The fist clenching. 

Shiro knew it was too good to be true.

It nears upwards of 20 minutes. He’s considering taking his leave. Postponing the date. He’s considering the fact that he knew better, he knew better than to get his hopes up too high. He knew better than to jump in so soon. He’s considering the fact that maybe there’s something wrong with him- _there's a lot wrong with you, you know this-_ and Lance affirmed his disinterest.

Until the doorbells jingle one more time. Shiro looks to the door with his last fringe of hope. A new but familiar snout struts through the door. 

“Shiro! I’m so sorry I’m late, were you waiting long? I’m so sorry, so sorry.” Lance crashes through the door. He shuffles to Shiro’s table. Plops on the table across from him. 

The tables seem reversed, this time.

 _Pardon the cliche._ Or maybe not. Shiro thinks Lance would like his tongue in cheek. _Well about that you are absolutely right._

Lance catches his breath a moment, smiling crookedly to Shiro’s face. Buttons gets himself comfortable, sniffing to Creampuff mildly. He sniffs at Shiro's shoelaces. Lance’s smile screws tighter and tighter, his arms clasp around him. His posture is closed. He’s turning away. 

His contrition is pulling him away farther, but Shiro just wants to get closer. 

Testing the edge, timidly and cautiously Lance asks “Do you still want to head out?”

Timid and cautions aren’t particularly good looks for Lance. Shiro wants them to be done with, done with 5 minutes ago. How could he say no to color so vivid? To a pitch so rich? In hopes to bring the confident and head-sure back, Shiro nods. “Lead the way.”

Immediately Lance resaturates. 

(He belongs where the ultramarine is crushed, where the yellow is ground. He belongs where tints and shades are mixed. He belongs as a fixture on Shiro’s wall, in Shiro’s frame, on Shiro’s heart.)

Lance belongs where the color reigns. 

Together they walk out with their respective leashed fur balls of joy. 

Alone, Shiro settles his resolve. He’s thinking maybe the day isn’t too good to be true. Maybe a little bit of waiting never hurt anyone. Patience must be a virtue for a reason, yes? Shiro’s thinking that he can let the truth be more good without his intercepting doubts. 

As they walk along main street, the sidewalks sometimes widen enough for them to walk side by side comfortably. Other times they narrow so close that Shiro has to trail behind. Other times they’re just wide enough to walk beside, but just narrow enough to get cozy. With these parts, Button and Creampuff have no qualms.

When they pass the music shop, Shiro briefly holds Lance’s elbow and gestures upwards. “That’s where I work most days of the week.”

Lance completely stops. Does a double take. Triple take. He absolutely flounders. “You… you work here. _Here._ ” A last look for good measure. “You sure?”

“Pretty sure,” Shiro smiles. “At least long enough to teach Keith.”

Lance blows a loud, spitty raspberry. “That must have taken a _while_ , I’m sure.” He shakes his head and jerks his chin for them to continue their walk. “I don’t want to think about how many times I’ve passed that stupid shop. I don’t want to think about how many times we’ve actually seen each other, but didn’t know.” He stops again. “ _Ughh._ I don’t want to think about it.”

Vigorously, Lance shakes out his head. Is he trying to dispel all his existential fate questions? Either way, it’s kind of cute. 

Either way, it seems to work well enough. He looks up to Shiro, walks them across the street and says “The walk isn’t too long.”

“How far away is the field?”

“Mmm.” He thinks for a moment. “Not too far. Maaybe a mile? If that?”

“Oh, that’s not bad at all.” Not bad at all. In fact, Shiro hoped it might have been longer. 

“I’m kind of surprised. You’ve lived here pretty long, right?”

“Kind of.” Shiro concedes. “I’ve worked at the music shop much longer than I’ve lived here.”

“Ooh, that’s right. I was going to say, it’s surprising you don’t know about the baseball field if you’ve lived here for as long as you have. But since you haven’t really _lived_ here for all that long, I’m just gonna tell you to forget everything I just said.”

Shiro just laughs. “I’ve visited this area a lot, but haven’t taken a proper tour or anything. Ever since I got discharged, I’ve been a big homebody.”

A few different expressions fly across Lance’s face. “Discharged?” He doesn’t think that’s what Lance really wanted to say, but he lets him talk on. “Which branch?”

“Air Force.” 

“Air Force. Hmm.” He nods. Before he asks his next question, he wrings Button’s leash over his hands a few times. Threads it between his fingers to let it unravel again. A subtle gesture to Shiro’s right arm, he infers. “Is that where you got that?”

He holds his arm up to let Lance get a better view. “Yeah, it uh. It is.”

They walk out of main street proper and move on to a side street. Lance’s voice is clear as they walk farther from prying eyes.

“Do I want to know the story?”

Shiro looks up and away again from Creampuff’s padding feet. He tilts his head as he wrings a little wry smile for Lance. “No, I don’t think you do.”

 _Oh_ , but Lance’s smile is so much more genuine. “Then how about I tell _you_ a story?”

Shiro can’t say he’s adverse to the thought.  He opens his hand out for Lance to continue. Continue he does. 

They walk down the back road across from main street and Lance tells a story of his family. They keep Creampuff’s and Button’s leash close as they creep down the steep hill leading  to the field. As they do, Lance tells a story of his school. 

They walk the street that leads to the main stretch towards the field. _Are you working up a  sweat already?_ The more the dogs walk, the more energy they gain. The more the people walk, the more traction Lance’s stories gain. Shiro is only inclined to listen and laugh. Lance isn’t pushing for anything in return. It’s the first time in a while Shiro hasn’t felt expected to give. 

The refreshment of receiving feels too good to be true, too.

_What did we say about truth, now?_

Right. 

His truth is being good. 

Lance seems pretty true.

He’s holding on to this good as long as he can have it.

Lance stops walking. “This is it.” Shiro follows his gaze up the frankly obscenely-inclining hill. His face must betray the obscenity, because Lance assures “It’s really not that bad! You just gotta walk it. Oh- and watch out for the cars, too.” He waves for Shiro to follow. “I haven’t taken Button out this way either yet, so this’ll be fun for all of us.” Under his breath he whispers “ _Muy divertido, for sure. Probably._ ”

The way the hill inclines, Shiro can’t see a whole lot of anything. There’s a waving asphalt road leading to a parking lot. There’s grass on the near side of the hill that trails up along the road. There’s the metal gate. 

Then of course, there’s Lance forging the way.

_Must be enjoying the view._

He’s enjoying the company. He’s enjoying the faint lack of responsibility. He’s liking the detachment from reality. He’s liking this newness.

He’s liking the wide, open, dusty expanse before them once they reach the top.

Button is about ready to rip away from his collar when he looks down towards Lance. His human looks down. Finds approval in Shiro’s eyes. 

“Think it would be okay if I let him run loose?” he ventures. 

He leads them towards the empty, open field. Shiro closes the gate behind them. There’s no other way for Button to accidentally escape. He’s in the clear. 

Shiro nods. “Go for it.”

The moment Lance unlatches the leash, Button is off like a bolt, running to the far edge of the perimeter. He doesn’t bother following. Instead, he moves his eyes meaningfully between Shiro and his pampered pooch. The intent is clear. The message is received.

“Well alright.” 

Shiro concedes.

Being the delicate lady she is, Creampuff is more hesitant to run wild like Button did. But once she sniffs her way forward, inches her way out, there’s no stopping her.

Across the field, around the edges, Creampuff and Button zoom past and chase each other. They ruck up the dust and dirt, getting it blinked away in their eyes and trapped in their fur. Lance leads them towards the shallow dugout, and they simply watch.

_This is time slipping, Shiro._

That he knows. Most acutely. 

_So make something of it._

He milks it for all it’s worth.

“You seem pretty familiar with this place,” he says. He trusts himself to multitask, keeping an eye on Creampuff and the time and Lance himself. It’s gonna be great. It’s going to be fine. “Do you come here often?”

He’d slap himself in the face if the line registered faster. 

Lance is gracious enough to sail right past it. He answers in earnest. “I do, actually. Yeah.” He points his finger out, tracing the line where the fence meets the ground. “I like to walk around when there's just stuff... going on. Stuff going in my head."

“I understand.”

“At night,” Lance confesses, “I would sometimes sneak out of the house. It was hard to get past so many siblings, but sometimes I just needed to get _out._ You know?”

Shiro can’t commiserate with the need to get out of the house, but he knows more than well the need to get out of his head. He doesn’t dare interrupt. 

“The only place I could think of coming to was here. In the dead of night, ass o’clock- I’m talking pitch black- I’d walk myself up that stupid hill and lay right in the middle of the diamond.”

Shiro can see it now.

“And I’d just think.”

Did he look as serene then as he does now? Did he think as beautifully as he is now?

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Shiro’s brief question does nothing to make Lance’s far off look come any nearer. If anything, he can see Lance’s mind going somewhere even more distant. “Sometimes I wouldn’t even come home ’til the sun rose again.”

“What did you think about?”

Lance’s sudden blush is surprising and delighting. More slowly, more cautious, more guarded he answers “A lot of stuff. I was never super angsty in high school, but to be fair, I was in high school.”

High school, Shiro seldom misses. 

“Every freshman is bound to be a little angsty, right? At least a little.”

Shiro concedes. “At least a little.”

“But I grew up, I grew out of the Angst.” Lance looks back out to the field. Creampuff and Button seemed to have run themselves down and out. “I started coming here less.” He makes little kissy noises to the both of them. “I don’t have so much to think about, anymore.”

Shiro walks them out of the dugout to greet the sauntering sloths trying to pass as their dogs. “I don’t think that’s true at all.”

Lance doesn’t bother denying. “You’re right,” he snorts. “I just wanted to pull a you.”

“‘Pull a me?’” Shiro’s face is… a lot of things as he scoops Creampuff’s dirty fur trap in his arms. “And what is ‘me?’”

“You? You’re like,” Lance waves a hand near Shiro’s general chest vicinity. “You know? All… epic. And stuff. You’ve got things figured out.”

He wants to laugh out loud.

“I want me some of that.”

He wants Lance to reconsider his wording before- _You have time to reconsider it for him? I know you._

Yeah. That.

Thankfully, Lance steamrolls forward and calls the whole thing off. “I was pretty slick for the moment there, you cannot deny.” He pat’s Shiro’s arm. “It’s okay big guy. I know we all want to be Skippy-Smooth like me, but you’ll get there. One day."

“Personally, I think you being you is what you should really want. It’s been working out pretty well as far as I can tell."

Lance’s kind but condescending pats turn to shy, shrinking recessions. He draws his hand back to himself. His flagrant but quiet boasting turns to whiplash silence. His blush isn’t conspicuously visible, but everything in his posture tells Shiro what he needs to know. 

Shiro knows that what he said was the _right_ thing to say.  

“Besides,” he offers innocently. “You’ll have time to pull at me later."

“I-“ that got Lance's attention. "Wait, what."

The pair start walking back towards the edge of the incline, leashes and collars latched for their dogs. They walk, and if that doesn’t say Ending to Shiro, he doesn’t know what would. 

_But you don't want it to end, do you._

“Are you gonna leave me hanging? Like, I kinda just want to know my ears are working right-“

_Lance isn't the only one that can be Skippy-smooth._

Shiro doesn't want this to end, he's right. He doesn't want to let this change happen so quietly.

He’s going to milk it for all it’s worth it.

Shiro isn't fond of interrupting Lance, but he'll do it just this once to say “Hey. I had a nice time.” He stops them when they reach the bottom of the hill. "Thanks for showing me around.”

“O-oh.” Lance throws him one of his mega-watt smiles. “No problem, man! Any time.”

_Does he mean that?_

“Any time?” Shiro presses.

“I mean like. Uh-"

He fishes out his phone. Holds it towards Lance to take. “Because I still have the rest of the town to tour.”

“Y…yeah?"

“And you're a good tour guide.” _Amongst other things, we hope?_ “Remember, I still know next to nothing about the area.” He shrugs. “So we should do this again."

Lance finally gets the memo. After he returns Shiro’s phone, he can't seem to part or divert his eyes. “We should do this again," he agrees.

“I look forward to it.”

He's looking forward to the diversion of stasis in his Old Town. Shiro's looking forward to the promise of new and the promise of _beauty_ that some blue eyes bring. 

He's looking forward to meeting Lance again.

He's looking forward to change like never before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am just the gift that keeps on giving
> 
> ((if you get the Hallmark reference, I will.... i will be surprised )))

**Author's Note:**

> also, i love the idea of naming his pets food-related things. it's so sweet. it's so goofy. it's so him. 
> 
> hope you enjoy this slapdash thing, nat
> 
>  
> 
> ((second part decided just before i posted this- hopefully to come tomorrow!))


End file.
